


Poison Never Stung

by midnightweeds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Family, Heartache, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, One Shot, Post-War, Pre-War, Racism, Romance, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Spies & Secret Agents, Torture, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 16:06:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11535693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightweeds/pseuds/midnightweeds
Summary: A happy ending means it isn't over.





	Poison Never Stung

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Draco x Hermione I've ever consciously written, from 2011.
> 
> It's very sweet and even more heartbreaking.
> 
> The title is a butchered lyric from Sedated by Hozier, aka the love of my life and the man whose hair I want to moisturize and comb.

* * *

 October, 1996

* * *

 

“Can you just stop with all of this trying to save me bullshit for once, Granger? I just need you to listen to me,” Draco looked at the witch imploringly, wishing she’d just accept him for what he was.

“But, Malfoy,” she started, obviously ready for another round of why he should join the Order. 

He stood up from his seat, slamming his glass down on the coffee table. “No, Granger! Listen to me. Shut your _filthy_  mouth up and listen!”

It worked.

“We can’t see each other anymore. I don’t know what you were thinking, or what I was thinking. Nothing good can come from this. It ends now.”

“We aren’t doing anything, Malfoy. There isn’t anything to end.”

For a moment, he considered that half a dozen rounds under his uncle's Imperio would have been easier to deal with than the thought of the last few months meaning nothing to her.

It was no different from what he’d always told her when she got too close, but it hurt to hear it from her mouth.

Still, he persisted. “Isn’t there? This little good deed you’re doing, trying to save the Death Eater’s son from following in daddy’s footsteps? From himself?” He watched her carefully, taking in the way the way her body slumped into the seat, as though she’d been defeated.

Would she actually walk away from them? His chest felt tight at the thought. He ignored it.

“I wanted you to know that you’re not alone.”

It was the first time she’d ever admitted to anything, and he looked at her with the blank eyes she’d grown so accustomed to.

Draco sat back down in his chair and took a swig of Fire Whiskey. He couldn’t deal with Hermione, not right now. Not completely sober.

“Good to know I’ve got you, Granger. Really. It’s reassuring. Perhaps we can have tea at the Manor and I can show you the gardens?”

“I’d like that.” She smiled as though it was feasible.

He groaned and rubbed his head. “This has to end. It’s nothing, but it has to end. Out there,” he pointed out the window, into the cold October day, “neither of us needs this distraction. We can’t play house anymore. We can’t know each other.”

Hermione bit her lip, the action distracting him. It was exactly what he meant. She was too deep under his skin.

“This doesn’t leave the Room, Malfoy. Alright? I get that. But you need a distraction, and I need a distraction. What’s wrong with finding it in each other?”

“What are we going to do now, hmm? Fuck?”

She shrugged, “If that’s what you need.”

Disgust etched on Draco’s face, though not as quickly as it should have.

Hermione smiled, laughing as she reached for the drink he’d mixed her. She was sure she’d sway him to her side; she just had to be patient. He needed a friend right now, a supporter. It didn’t take a genius to see that.

“What are you so afraid of, Malfoy? That you might actually like me?” She rolled her eyes at the thought.

But, she wanted him to like her. She knew him capable of it, and they had enough in common. “I’m good company. Stable company. And nothing leaves this room. I swear.”

“On your magic?”

The emotionless way he asked told her all she needed to know.

“If you do.”

They leaned across the table and shook on it.

* * *

June, 1997

* * *

 

 “I was chosen-”

“For what, Malfoy?! To get yourself killed? This is a suicide mission, and you know it!” Hermione shook with anger, hands aching to reach out and shake some sense into him.

“I have to do this. I have to-he’ll kill me. He’ll kill my family. I can’t let that happen.” Draco’s voice was barely a whisper, but she heard it loud and clear.

It seemed as though all of his attempts to hold it together were finally chipping away. She knew he wouldn’t like it, so she resisted pulling him into her. Regardless of how close they’d grown, they’d always be worlds away.

“We can help you. You don’t have to do this,” she pleaded with him.

“Your precious Order, Granger? You really think they would help me? Dumbledore decided I wasn’t worth saving years ago.”

She shook her head, hoping to change his mind. If he only knew how much the Headmaster was on his side; how much he rooted for him. It’d been what encouraged her toward him.

“That’s not true, Malfoy. We would help you; he would help. You’re a good man. We’d be just as bad as You-Know-Who if we denied you because you were born into the wrong family.” As soon as it was out of her mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. He took too much pride in being a Malfoy to ever consider being born into the wrong family.

His eyes flashed with anger. “You wouldn’t understand! You don’t understand what family means, what sacrifices have to be made for your blood-”

“Don’t you dare tell me I don’t understand what blood means in this word,” she told him coldly. She hesitated before saying, “I didn’t mean it like that, anyway.”

“Sure, Granger. Of course you didn’t.

“You don’t fool me, okay? Don’t you think I could tell someone put you up to this. Who was it, huh? Who thought it’d be fun to fuck with poor, falling apart Draco?

“You all know, nothing. I was chosen to do this, to further our cause and bring honor back to my family. You Mudbloods and Blood-Traitors wouldn’t understand.”

Hermione stepped away from him at the jab at her blood.  _He doesn’t mean it_ , she reminded herself, but it didn’t stop it from hurting.

“Don’t insult me like that, Malfoy. We’ve come too far for you to try to make me believe that you believe that rubbish. And don’t you dare talk to me about family or sacrifices.”

“Your parents are Muggles, Granger! They have no idea about any of this. At any moment, you can walk out of the Wizarding World and go anywhere with them.”

It was a long shot, because she’d barely spoken to him about her parents. Except for the comments about missing them, and doing what was right, he only knew that she favored her mother, and her father owned a few dentistry practices, whatever those were. But, he did have some belief in his words. She could just snap her wand and leave them all to rot.

In the back of his mind, he hoped desperately that she wouldn’t leave him like that.

She frowned confusedly at him, “You think Vol-”

“ _Gran_ ger,” Draco hissed.

“- _He_  wouldn’t find me? You think he wouldn’t hunt me to the ends of the earth? I’m a threat, here or there.” Stepping closer to him, Hermione lifted a hand to rub over his chest, feeling his heart pound against his ribs. “I’ve made sacrifices to see this through. I’ve made them to  _stay_  here.”

He backed away, as though her being so close was dangerous. His eyes were wide with emotion she couldn’t pinpoint, but she hoped desperately that he understood what she was saying. She wanted him to see his worth, that Voldemort was just using him, but he was blinded by ideas of dignity and honor. It would have been beautiful and inspiring, if he weren’t going to kill himself doing the wrong thing.

Draco turned away from Hermione, moving quickly toward the door.

It hurt more than anything knowing that he was going to do it anyway. There was no way to warn Dumbledore anymore than she already had. She realized then that she just needed him to stay with her. If he stayed, she could put everything off another day, at least.

“Draco,” she spoke lowly, watching as he froze. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do, Granger. My family is all I have.” The calm that had smothered his anger and sadness scared her. He was blocking her out, same as he did whenever she got a little too close or personal.

“You have me.”

He turned around and looked at her with the emptiest eyes she’d ever seen. The pools of endless grey would haunt her forever, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she swallowed any misgivings she had and walked over to him. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to want to stop her.

“Don’t, Granger,” he warned her when she got too close. “Please, just…don’t.”

But, she knew him well enough now. His resolve was breaking. And she intended to help it.

He held himself together valiantly, though. Jaw tight and back straight, ever the warrior his father had molded him into. Tilting her head up to look at him, she noted that his eyes had turned cloudy. It was something she liked about him, the fact that his eyes always hinted toward how he was feeling when he was distracted enough to let his guard down. The vulnerability of it was genuine and alluring, willing her to him easily.

“I’ve been right here for you all year,” she whispered. He was shaking, finally showing some sign of recognition. Hermione raised a hand and let her fingers glide over his jaw and neck, lacing through the short, blonde hair at his nape. His eyes closed at the touch, and when they opened she could see the fear and need in them. “I won’t leave you.”

He forced everything in him that wanted to latch on and bury into her down into the deepest part of his stomach. Draco knew that he couldn’t do that to her. He didn’t have it in himself to damn another person –least of all someone that meant something to him.

“I’m begging you, Granger. It’s not worth it.”

Tears swelled in her eyes, understanding seeping into every inch of her. She’d hoped and prayed and begged to every higher power she knew, and it was all for naught.

She reached out and wrap her arms around his torso. His body was tense under her hold, and she rubbed her hands up his back soothingly. When he relaxed, Hermione pressed her face into his shoulder. He smelt as clean and cold as a winter day and she allowed herself do be drawn into the heavy chill of his body as he an arm snaked around her upper back, the other coming up to hold her in place, his fingers slipping into her hair as he resting his cheek atop her head.

Draco was loath to admit, but he felt stronger with her finally in his arms. As he inhaled, he realized that he wanted to hold onto her forever, but it was an impractical feeling left over from his years of being a spoiled little boy.

He didn’t deserve anything anymore, not after the hands he’d been dealt. The hands he readily played. She’d been his friend when he was in hopeless need of one, she deserved more than anything in the world for that.

Inhaling the peachy scent he’d come to recognize as Hermione, Draco felt her fingers moving slowly over his back through his shirt. It was the softest anyone had ever willingly touched him, and he liked it more than he should have. 

“You’re better than this,” she murmured. She pulled away just enough to look at him. “You deserve better.”

“I haven’t earned it,” he pushed her back under his chin very subtly.

Neither was sure who willed it, but the room shrunk around them, turning cozier, colder and warmer at the same time. She molded closer to him, and he let her, watching as the couch they usually shared morphed into a bed.

Resisting a sigh, he pressed his nose into her hair and took a deep breath, attempting to memorize the scent and feel of her. It dawned on him that he should have allowed this closeness months ago. Now, he’d be lucky if she interested in staying with him for the rest of the evening.

He swallowed at the thought of her leaving, though it wasn’t as disturbing as having to ask her to stay. Draco felt that he’d already made himself too weak before her. She wouldn’t have considered those silly ideas of him asking the Order for protection if he hadn’t.

“You don’t have to ask,” Hermione breathed. She needed him as much as he needed her. There would never be anything more than this night for them.

His fingers twisted her hair, gently pulling her head back in order to look into her eyes. “This isn’t worth it, Granger. You should walk away now.” _I’m not worth it._

The smile she gave him was so soft and beautiful that he almost agreed to go to Dumbledore. But, it didn’t matter what he wanted.

His path was set, and Hermione wouldn’t be a part of it after tonight. Not unless the Dark won and she survived long enough to become his. But he knew they wouldn’t, and he would become nothing but a prisoner when the Light won. If he was even alive.

Her hands moved to rest on his hips, thumbs brushing circles over his clothed skin, and he took in the honeyed look in her eyes. Draco let go of her hair and let his hand fall down to one of her hips. He let his forehead came to rest on her as he drew his arm around her shoulders, forcing her head back into the curve of his elbow.

It took about four seconds for him act on his decision to kiss her, and it turned out to be another thing he wished he’d done sooner. There was no time now.

She moaned below him, teeth pulling his bottom lip into her mouth before letting go with a small pop. She ran her fingers through his hair, studying him briefly with an intensity that savaged him. “I want you.”

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. “Hermione,” he whispered, and felt her shudder against him. A soft smile graced his lips, and she kissed him gently, as though she were afraid it’d disappear. “We can’t.”

When she tried to pull away from him, he tightened his grip and kissed her hard. “I want to, too. Need to, even. But this isn’t the right time. We can’t know each other like this if we’re expected to kill each other after.”

“After tonight,” she started, but didn’t say anything more. Gripping at his waist, she pressed her face into his shoulder again. Her voice was heavy and muffled when she said, “If we survive, it won’t be the same.”

“I know,” he murmured into her hair, “I’m so sorry.” That was the end of it; he felt his self-pity and hate too heavily to force himself on her. She’d regret it, even if she didn’t think she would. “Would you,” he swallowed his doubt, “would you still stay, tonight?”

“As long as you need me.”

The admission made him hate himself even more. Neither of them needed this right now. But, he led her over to the bed and, in a moment of desperation, they stripped each other bare, mouths searching for life in each other as they fought for dominance on the bed.

“Draco,” she whispered. Her voice was like a breath of life, strengthening him to the very core. He lifted from his attack on her breasts and looked at her with clear eyes. Hers were heavy and lusty, and he laid his head on her stomach in attempt to calm them both.

“I was going to say don’t stop,” she told him, touching his hair again. But, she didn’t push him.

The realization that he was grateful for her left him swallowing the thickness in his throat. She  _understood_. He could be himself and hate her and care for her, and she would understand.

He wanted to bury himself inside her and remain there, forever, and he knew that if he allowed it, he it would feel like coming home. But, giving into it wasn’t allowed. He lived only for his Lord now.

The feel of her cool fingers against his scalp drew his attention back to her, and he pushed himself up. Would she accept him if she saw his Dark Mark?

Draco lifted the charm, allowed only because he was under aged, and let his gaze move from her to his arm. He could feel when she saw it, hands dropping away from where they’d fallen on his shoulders.

She wasn’t going to stay anymore. It was what he deserved.

“Oh, Malfoy,” she said, and the pity in her voice had him pulling away, sitting on his knees between her legs.

Hermione sat up too, hand reaching out to grab the arm he was shielding from her view. Her fingers rubbed at the tattoo, as though it’d smudge away. “It’s rather beautiful,” she mumbled in a defeated voice.

He watched her stoically as she continued to rub at it. It was an odd sight, one he wouldn’t have believed to be true if you’d told even months ago, when he’d finally grown comfortable enough to admit his task. The tattoo preened under the attention, the snake slithering over his skin in a way that would usually be uncomfortable.

Finally, she looked up and at him calculatingly.

Then, she kissed it, her lips soft against the center of the mark.

“It doesn’t have to be this way.”

Draco leaned toward her, forcing the witch to lie back down with a kiss. With her legs still on either side of him, he resumed his spot between them, laying his head close enough to her heart to hear it beating rhythmically. Comfort seeped through his skin as she brought her fingers back to his tresses.

“Yes,” he kissed her ribcage, wrapping his arms around her. The young wizard still wanted to seek salvation within her, through her, but she’d given him enough purpose and direction to carry on, and in another life, he would have bought the world for it.

Instead, he trailed his fingers over her side, smiling at her small squirms.

“It does, Hermione. I’m sorry, but it does.”

Tomorrow, he’d kill Albus Dumbledore.

* * *

January, 1998

* * *

 “Draco.”

The blonde wizard froze, hands clenching into fists as his side. He knew that voice all to well; the soft murmur brushed over him every night, plaguing his dreams and drawing him closer and closer to the insanity he was sure would fill him to the brim at any coming moment.

Had it really only been a few months?

Still, his memory didn’t feel quite as good as truly hearing it. After the evening of Lord only knew what from the Death Eaters that roamed the dungeons, her voice was raw and quieter then a whisper, but it filled his ears more purposely than any lecture from his father or the Dark Lord. For a few moments, he felt as though he could fight off the madness of the damned war and everything he’d had to do just to survive. He closed his eyes and breathed in the stale scent of the cellar. It disguised the smell of death.

“You dare say my name?” He questioned, turning around to look down at the witch.

“Please,” she gasped, and he could feel the life slipping from her. “Draco.”

She wasn’t looking at him, her eyes weren’t even open, but he felt like she was peering into his soul. It hurt knowing that she would only sense his demons: the walls were like Dementors, sucking out the worst within anyone baring the Mark so that they could act out their Lord’s will with ease.

He wanted to show her all the ways he’d grown, both good and bad. Wanted her to feel all that he’d done to remain intact, for a moment exactly like this one. Where he’d finally be able to prove his worth.

“Show the Mudblood it’s place, son,” Lucius’ voice sounded from behind him.

Draco closed his eyes, attempting to gather his strength. His father wasn’t supposed to be home.

“That’s why you came here to do, isn’t it? Don’t let its state put you off. Show it where it belongs.”

The younger wizard resisted shaking, knowing what he had to do. If he didn’t, there was no doubt that Lucius would raise his wand to her. He walked toward the corner she was in and bent down, letting his wand graze her face. Her eyes opened then, the chestnut coloring locking him into memories of their sixth year. She was crying and shaking, blood collecting in her left eye from ruptured vessels. There had been many times since his last time seeing her that he wished he’d listened. He could have prevented all of this.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He hadn’t spent nearly a year risking his life for her just so that she could wind up dying beneath Malfoy Manor. He hadn’t even meant to get caught down here. He just had to confirm that it was her.  _His_ Hermione and then he could fix it.

“Mudbloods, females particularly, are only good for one thing: tension relief,” he continued to lecture. “Like any animal, if you do not show your strength, they will attempt to gain it.”

Her voice seemed to fail her, and she was mouthing his name over and over, hysterics taking over her mind at his father’s words. He closed his eyes long enough to seal himself off. It was the only way he’d been able to hold himself together since they’d parted ways. Pushing up to his full height, Draco pointed his wand at her and imagined his father’s face. The irony didn’t pass him up as he cast a silent Crucio. 

When he turned around, Lucius was gone.

* * *

June, 1998

* * *

 Hermione yelped when arms pulled her back, into broom cupboard. She fell flush against someone’s chest, fighting the vice like grip trapping her there. It was only then that she realized they weren’t fighting back; that the grip was cold and soothing. Known.

She froze instantly.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” Draco whispered. It was the truth. When he watched Snape carry her away from the Manor in the dead of night, he was sure she’d finally join her family wherever she’d sent them. Or that she’d die before they even got to a safe house. He had, after all, tortured her on her deathbed only nights before. It’d been a miracle that she was even still breathing when Snape arrived to take her back to the Order.

The wizard rubbed his nose against her ear, chin coming to rest on her shoulder as he breathed her in. She smelt smoky and sweaty, but underneath it was everything he’d been craving for a year. With part of himself still stored away for safekeeping, he was able to keep his tears at bay. This would be it for them. On the other side of the door, everything was looking better for the Light. He wouldn’t survive in her world just as she couldn’t survive in his. With that in mind, he remained as stoic as he always had. She would only see his strength.

“Malfoy,” she whispered, as though someone would hear her.

“Hermione,” he spoke back, holding her just a little closer just before letting go. She turned around to see him instantly, and the first thing he noticed that her eye hadn’t completely healed. It hurt to look it, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he stepped closer and she allowed him to take her face in his hands. She was dirty and exhausted, and he knew that he wasn’t much better right now, either. They were both warriors, after all. “Oh, Merlin,” he leaned his forehead down on hers, noses pressing together sloppily.

The witch kissed him, and he saw stars.

Hungrily, he attacked her mouth, hands moving over her body as though he were a starving man. In theory, he was. Six months of being unsure of she were dead or alive had left him empty –Snape wouldn’t say, and neither would Potter and Weasley when they’d been caught by Snatchers. There’d been little reason to continue with his sham, but he carried on, and was damn happy that he had.

He felt her hands over his suit, sneaking beneath the jacket and trying to get under his shirt. The eagerness made him smile, and he pressed his body fully to hers, forcing her into the wall as he pulled his mouth off of hers. She whined at the loss, eyes opening to find him watching her. He lifted his hands to her hair, running it through the short locks. As though she’d momentarily forgotten what she’d looked like, she looked away from him, seemingly embarrassed.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her, pressing his lips to random places on her face.

“Too much Dark Magic,” she whispered. “It’s growing back now. I’m a lot better.”

It was all she had to say; his head fell to her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her back, his stomach sinking at the feeling of knowing what happened in his ancestral home had affected her so greatly. That he’d been a part of it.

The realization sobered him enough to pull away from her. “I just wanted to see you. To know that you were still here.”

“That’s all?”

“You deserve more than I could ever give you, Hermione.”

She took his hand, lacing their fingers. “Is about honor and family and all that rubbish? Because I’d still think you the bravest man I know if you joined me now.”

He smiled, and laughed genuinely for the first time in what felt like ages, kissing the hand holding his before drawing her into his embrace. “Good to know you’re still you, witch. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t,” he rested his chin atop her head. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, switching gears. “For not listening to and hurting you. I thought I knew better. I hoped, well, I don’t know what I hoped –but I did. I wish that you weren’t Muggleborn, or that I wasn’t a Malfoy; sometimes, at least. Then this could all be so different.”

“Me too,” she admitted, arms wrapping around his waist. “But I like us the way we are, too. And, for what its worth, you’re still a good man to me, Draco.”

Hearing his name and her words fall from her lips recharged him. He could accept losing, accept prison, and accept the Kiss, even. There was no greater salvation he could ask for then knowing she was still on his side. He pressed his nose to her hair, allowing the soft curls to ground him. 

  “I take it back, you know. Out here, you’re all I know. I’ve worked so hard to get back to you. To make myself worthy in the eyes of the Dark Lord if we did win, and you lived. To be transparent with the Order.”

“You’re the informant?” She didn’t pull away to look at him, and he was thankful. It took a lot to admit what he’d become. Her knowing could ruin him.

“Doesn’t matter. Snape’s dead.”

He felt her crying, the tears soaking through his shirt. All he could do was hold her tighter, so he did. The display of emotion was reassuring. She hadn’t been turned to stone during the year of battle and heartbreak.

“I’ll tell them. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Merlin, Granger,” he murmured with a kiss to her hair. “If only.”

“Yeah,” he heard her muffle into his chest. “If only.”

* * *

March, 2000

* * *

 

“Malfoy is getting released,” Harry said grumpily, sitting down at the kitchen table. He slammed the paper down in front of Ron, who sat beside him with a sleepy, shocked look on his face as he stared at the article.

At the other end of the Black table, Hermione looked up form her coursework, staring at the pair as they began to express their disgust. Creature pushed aside one of the textbooks to set down a fresh cup of coffee and smiled unpleasantly at the witch before turning to focus on his Master. However, the Auror-trainees were, for once, too shocked to notice the waffles and bacon.

“They can’t be letting that scum bag out, Harry. This has to be a mistake. They meant his mother or something,” Ron stated, finally noticing the food and stuffing his mouth.

“Narcissa has been out since September, Ronald,” Hermione shuffled around her papers, sorting through the scattering of textbooks for her Wizarding Lit class. “It’s Draco; haven’t you been paying attention to the news at all?”

“It says they received an Anonymous tip,” Harry continued, completely ignoring her. It left Hermione wondering why she bothered spending nights at Grimmauld Place at all. She’d taken to staying one or two nights a week, as it was one of few times she ever got away from her apartment, but the pair barely ever seemed to realize.

“Who would vouch for Malfoy? He’s never done a bit of good.”

“Oh my god,” Harry muttered, dropping he paper in his breakfast. Creature eyed him angrily, yanking his hard work out from under the Prophet to refresh the plate. “He’s getting out today.”

Hermione dropped her pen, eyes widening as she looked up at Harry. “What did you say, Harry?”

“He’s getting out this afternoon!” He shot up from the table. “How could they let this happen?”

She began to flip through the nearest tome, needing something to do. “Obviously the anonymous person knew enough to prove his innocence, Harry.”

“Innocence, Hermione? Is your coursework finally getting to your sanity? Malfoy doesn’t have a decent bone in his body, let alone innocent. This is obviously a mistake, or conspiracy. Absolutely ridiculous,” Ron stood and followed Harry out of the kitchen, presumably to get dressed and head down to the Ministry to make a scene.

Creature looked at Hermione with scrutiny. “I know you been meeting Madam Malfoy, Miss,” he told her. The pair stared at each other for a few seconds, before the elf snapped his fingers and cleared the area of all of her belongings. “She needs you now.”

Hermione swallowed, watching as he winked out before getting up from her seat and walking to the Floo in order to get home, hesitating only a moment once she’d landed in her living room. She was dressed in Muggle clothes, hair a frizzy mess, but there wasn’t enough time.

*  *  *

“Miss Granger,” Madam Malfoy rose from her seat as the younger witch entered the room. “Leave us.” Her advisor and lawyer left swiftly, nodding their respects to the war hero, who’d become a common fixture at the Manor. “Please, sit,” she gestured to the couch she was settling in on and the witch moved to sit with her. The older witch took her hands quickly, eyes seeking hers.

“I take it you’ve seen the paper.”

She nodded and Narcissa said, “The decision was made early, I didn’t know until the lawyer was beating down the door this morning. Scaring my poor little elves.” She hummed and looked around before snapping her fingers.

Tea and biscuits appeared; cups pre-poured to perfection.

“I’m going with Donaldstoven to collect him. The ministry has been kind enough to keep what I’m about to tell you under wraps, Hermione.”

The older witch picked up a teacup and passed it over.

“They’ve taken a lot from us; homes, money, possessions. I barely have anything of the Black fortune left, even. All of this worlds wealth,” she made a gesture with her hand to describe them as gone. “But your world, Miss Granger- my husband was an idiot, but he was an intelligent man. He, and his fathers before him, made substantial investments in the Muggle world, and they left the money there. Billions of dollars, Miss Granger, across many lands. Any place you’ve ever dreamed of, a breath away.” With a small hand gesture, the sweets moved to the corner of the table and a map of the world unrolled over the glass.

“That being said, I am still asking more than I can offer. I can only hope that you haven’t given up on my son. I’ve noticed. I know. I am thankful. I-”

“Madam Malfoy, it’s time to go,” her advisor peaked in. She nodded and stood, Hermione following her up.

“Sit. Stay. He’ll be home soon.”

“The ministry knows?” She asked at a whisper.

“They suggested that the safest place was any but here.”

Hermione hugged Narcissa close, tears collecting in her eyes. They’d grown quite close since the end of the war, both surprised at how well they got on without the stigma of supposedly hating each other. “What will you do?”

She pulled away and smiled prettily, “I will be a Black by the end of the day.” The blonde left before Hermione could ask another question, and she plopped down on the couch in an incredibly undignified way before leaning over the map.

Narcissa had been right, they could go anywhere she pleased.

If he still wanted this. Still wanted her.

* * *

November, 2006

* * *

 “Look who’s home,” Hermione cooed as her husband walked through the door, bouncing the babe in her arms, kissing his head before looking up at Draco. He set down his brief case and moved into the living room, stepping over baby toys in order to get to his family. Kissing his wife, he ran a hand over his son’s honeyed curls, smiling at the gurgling boy before kissing his forehead.

“How was he today?” He asked a he shrugged out of his suit jacket, laying it over the couch before working to roll up his sleeves.

“You could just take it off,” Hermione suggested, smiling at the dark look he gave her before reaching to unbutton his shirt.

She looked at her son and took one of his little fists as she spoke, bouncing slightly to keep him smiling. “You were a good boy for mama, weren’t you? We went over our alphabets, and got some snuggle time in while we read, didn’t we? He ate all his food and played and danced, just like a big boy.”

“Malfoy men don’t play and dance, love.” He reached for his son, who happily left his mother’s arms. “Isn’t that right, Scorpius?”

The 14-month-old began to babble as though he were actually expressing his opinion, the only intelligible words being ‘mama,’ ‘da,’ and ‘bye-bye.’ During that time, Draco leaned in to kiss Hermione again, sighing at the calm that swept through him every time they connected. “And how is my wife?” He whispered with a smile.

“Tired,” she lifted a hand through his hair, happy that he’d let it grow a little. Their son attempted to do the same, causing Hermione to laugh happily, touching his hair as well. “He’s going to go down for a nap soon. Maybe we can too. I’ve missed you today.”

He gave her a knowing smile that brightened his face so much that Hermione felt her heart speed up. She’d never imagined being in Russia, living with Draco and their son being truly a part of her future. Often, she worried she’d blink and realize it was all a dream, and prayed everyday it wouldn’t happen.

When he’d gotten to Malfoy Manor a few years back –it felt like a lifetime, really-, he was a different man. Thin and tired, weathered from the hard time in prison. But his eyes had been bright when they landed on her, sitting patiently in the parlor. The hope, happiness, and relief in them had shaken her to the core, telling her everything she’d needed to know.

They’d lived happily in Norway, attending school and traveling in spare time. Once Scorpius was born, the young couple decided that aliases and life int he Muggle world were the best shot they had fro peace. Draco accepted an job that landed them in Russia, allowing him to act as liaison for Norwegian/Russian relations, and he’d developed into a strong and happy man, respected in the community and his line of work.

Freezing, below 0 nights and false identities for the family in the outside world were worth his joy.

Draco pulled her onto the couch, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He set Scorpius in his lap and let him lean against his chest. Hermione curled into him easily, right were she was always meant to be, and ran her hand over the smooth skin of his chest as she looked up at him.

“You deserve the entire world, Draco,” she told him, addressing the doubt in his eyes.

It still seeped into him from time to time, usually the same time he swore the faded mark on his arm was moving, calling to him. “You’re enough and you’ve done enough.” She kissed his nipple, tongue darting out quickly. He hissed at the action, causing her to smile and get up from the couch.

Hands running over her body coolly, she turned away and called over her shoulder on her way to the bedroom, “Put your son down, and I’ll show you.”

* * *

December, 2010

* * *

“Honey!” Hermione called, setting her keys and purse down at the door table.

“I’m right here, my love.”

“I’ve ditched the tots at your mother’s,” she told him in a lower tone, pulling her boots off before shrugging out of the fur he’d gifted her for their ninth anniversary. “We should head to New Zealand for the weekend –I’ve asked Banana to open up the-,” Hermione yelped as she finally walked into the kitchen.

Draco was strapped to a chair, beaten and bloodied. The fear in his eyes was evident, sadness and failure poring out of him as though it were coming from a blood vessel. Looking up at the man standing behind him, Hermione’s eyes widened with confusion.

“Harry Potter?” She asked lowly, “What are you doing here?”

He tilted his head, “You tell me Hermione.”

Ron pushed himself off the wall behind her, gripping her elbow and forcing her into the chair across from her husband. The bonds he placed on her sucked away any magic, showing her how high they ranked in the British Ministry. Use of such a spell would usually have authorizes beating down your door, as it was crippling and life threatening.

“Yes, Hermione. Imagine our surprise when we learn that you hadn’t died. That you’ve been shacking up with this scum for over a decade,” Ron ran a finger over her cheek, traveling down her neck and over her collarbone. The action caused Draco to hiss with displeasure, eyeing the ginger wizard with great distaste. After a few moments, he looked back at Hermione. The pools of liquid silver spread calm through her body, and she swallowed down any fear she might have.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Shut up! You don’t get to talk, Hermione! You and your shit ruined my entire life. Betraying us for this piece of shit.”

“Calm down, Ron,” Harry whispered soothingly

“Yes, please do. Also, you’d do well to watch your mouth when speaking to my wife, Weasel,” Draco rasped out, earning a shocked look from Harry that confirmed them having had him on a silencing charm. His breaking it set Ron off again.

“Release him, Mr. Potter. He hasn’t done anything wrong,” Hermione looked imploringly at her old friend. He looked trapped and worried, but ultimately did nothing.

“I can’t do that. He deserves to be jail.”

“This is preposterous! We’ve done exactly what the Ministry asked! And now were being punished for it? What has the leadership turned into, tyranny?”

“You dare mock your own government, Hermione?”

She caught eyes with Draco again and everything hit her. Deny, deny, deny. Surely, the Russian Ministry had noticed an interruption in their wards and was coming to investigate? “I don’t know this Hermione you speak of,” she told him evenly, “you have the wrong house.”

Ron, who’d been leaning into Draco’s face to sneer, turned quickly to look at her. “Excuse me?”

“You may check our papers, if you’d like. My name is Hanne Skogen, and this is my husband Dagmar. We are Norwegian officials here as diplomats. He is a liaison. That drawer, the one closest to the staircase, has all of our information in it,” she didn’t look away from Draco the entire time. “He’s a half-blood, I’m a squib. We removed ourselves from the Wizarding world after graduating from college.”

Ron was the first to move, yanking the drawer out of its place and spilling the contents on their small morning table. His face was flushed red, and he began ranting to Harry once he realized everything was legit.

“I love you,” Draco breathed, and Hermione began to cry. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. They were supposed to be safe, to be happy. Not subject to whatever her former friends were doing.

“We have three beautiful children,” she continued. “Klaus, he’s the oldest, and twins are Hugo and Magdalena, they were all born in our home country. They display magical talent; we’re afraid for them, and incredibly proud. We’re-we’re expecting another boy,” it was new news for Draco, and he looked at her with large eyes before they dropped down to her stomach.

“These are false documents,” Harry pressed his wand to Draco’s throat, and she began to cry harder.

“No, please! Please, contact the Embassy or the Ministry. They all know we’re here. I’m telling the truth. I don’t know of this Hermione, or why you believe my husband of something. He is an honored man in his field.”

Harry shook his head. “I found your file, Hermione. I know that you’re not dead. I know you, Hermione.”

She shook her head, “You’ve got me confused with someone else. Please, just call the Embassy. Or the Russian Ministry. Please, don’t hurt him.”

“Shut up,” Ron pressed his wand to her throat, giving Draco enough strength to break free of whatever bonds they’d had on him.

“Don’t you dare hurt my wife, you bastard,” he lunged at the red with enough hate flowing through his body to force his magic at him, knocking him out cold.

The action caused Harry to petrify the blond at Hermione’s feet. Thankfully, he sat him up to rest against her knees, but he kept his wand trained on him. “That was Dark Magic.”

“Are you mad? Chemical spikes in ability increase when family is threatened. Please, Harry, just release him, or me. Contact the Ministry so we can get this all sorted out.”

“There is nothing to sort out. It doesn’t matter who you say you are: I know. I know, and I’ve already poisoned your sodding husband, Hermione. He’s going to die whether I believe you or not,” he scratched at his scar, and that’s when Hermione realized he was under the Imperius curse.

Draco feeling his Mark moving hadn’t been a phantom sensation. It’d been real and true. Voldemort still lived in Harry. He seemed to sense her realization, because he gave her a very dark smile.

“Yes, little Mudblood. No one gets away from me.”

He pointed his wand at Ron, who disappeared instantly. Walking towards her, the Harry bent down. “I’ll be back for you, dear,” he whispered into her ear before releasing Draco from the curse and fading away. Instantly, he sat up and kissed her hard, apologizing profusely. Relieving her of the bonds, he pulled her down into his lap and wrapped his arm around her. “I love you so much, Hermione. More than you’d ever know.”

His fingers found their way under her sweater, touching her stomach gently. It was barely rounded, and he found himself wondering how he’d missed such an important change in her body. She held him closely, crying into his neck and shoulder, not daring to tell him what she’d been told. Idly, the pair recognized the feel of the wards being permeated by the Ministry, and heard their voices as they called out. Neither responded, wanting to spend whatever time they had left together with only each other.

A British liaison was with them, and bent down next to the pair, noting the damage they had been done to the kitchen. “Mister and Madam Malfoy,” a soft voice whispered, and the pair pulled a part carefully.

“I’ve been poisoned,” Draco said, looking directly at his wife. “A Healer won’t be needed. I won’t survive this."

“Mister Skogen, please let Healer Pankratov try to help you; we use a different type of magic to treat such injuries,” the liaison told him, speaking a little louder. The use of their aliases told them there were people below clearance level around. “You won’t even have to leave your home.”

Hermione ran her fingers through his hair, “Please let them help you, Draco,” she whispered his name very quietly, and he closed his eyes under her attentions. “For me and the kids. Please.”

He pushed her to stand and managed to get up as well. The wizard didn’t have enough strength to tell her that there was no reason to try, that he was already on borrowed time. Instead, he kissed her again, and sat down on the nearest chair for the Healer to work on him.

“I love you,” she told him.

And he smiled, keeping his eyes on her. They were discolored with ruptured veins, much like the expanse of his neck. With what seemed to be the last of his strength, the wizard pulled her to him, inhaling the peach, summer scent that continued to cling to her even after all of the sins she’d absorbed just by being near to him. He hadn’t deserved her, and she didn’t deserve having to live carrying the loss of a selfish man.

Her lips pressed wherever they could reach. “You’ve taught me strength and loyalty, and I’m so honored to have experienced all that I have with you.”

She pulled away very slightly, and with his free hand he managed to wipe away her tears. Her lips pressed into his gently. “I’m so grateful for the man you are and the father you’ve been to our children. Oh god, Draco. I love you so much.”

“You’ve always been the best part of me, Hermione.” His fingers wound lifelessly into her curls as he swallowed down sobs that he knew would suffocate him if they were let out.

Quietly, desperately, with the last of his breath, he whispered, “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> If you enjoy my writing, it'd mean a lot to me if you followed my new tumblr _honeyweeds_ , it's dedicated to fics and I'd really love to connect with you. Drop a line and let me know you're a fan of _Poison Never Stung_ and I'll write you a mini domestic Dramione moment!
> 
> I'll also be following blogs back!
> 
> Link is on profile.


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